


The First Affair Affair

by Mrs_Spooky



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5835094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Spooky/pseuds/Mrs_Spooky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Russian agent has been transferred to U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in NYC, will he be accepted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deep in Enemy Territory

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and I know I need an editor, particularly with formatting. This is my first work posted here, hope I do things right. Story will be updated as more is completed. I started this last summer then got too busy to complete it. Yes, I have a lot of typing to do. :)

“So… have you seen him yet?”

The impeccably groomed young man with his elbow leaning on the wall just behind the Vision’s head only had eyes for her, gazing deeply into her eyes.

“Seen who?” he asked without interest.

“Him.  HIM!  You know, that U.N.C.L.E. agent from Russia!  He’s replacing Mr Meachem who retired last month.  Remember?”

No, he didn’t remember, and at the moment he didn’t care.  He wanted to go out for dinner and dancing after work and was not planning on going alone. “Oh.  Him,” he said, bored.  “Not yet.  I suppose he’ll be starting soon.”

“He’s here now!” Linda from Communications told him excitedly. “He’s a Soviet agent who was working out of the Berlin office, and they sent him here.  A Soviet U.N.C.L.E. agent.  HERE!”

The young man sighed, realizing he wasn’t going anywhere tonight, he feigned a bored interest.  Yes, he knew that the Soviet Union wanted in on U.N.C.L.E.’s mission and Section One wanted to send him to the New York office.  According to Mr Waverly, the Soviets had sent their best and brightest.  He didn’t sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect of having a Soviet agent here in the US, but being a fair man, he thought he’d give the kid a shot.  Plus, Napoleon suspected, Waverly, and the regional heads wanted to foster closer ties between the the Russian and Western governments, since both rival nations WERE on the same side of some issues.

Linda was still talking.  Apparently her friend in reception who gave him his badge said he was really cute - even called him adorable - and every inch the gentleman and SOOOO polite!  Word spread, so most of the females made sure they were in the hall when he was escorted to Human Resources and they greatly approved, a tidbit that irritated Napoleon immensely.  Competition, eh?  He was going to have to nip THAT in the bud!

“Karina in Reporting speaks a little Russian. She said Illya is Russian for ‘Elijah’ isn’t that cool?”  She laughed at Napoleon’s blank stare.

Napoleon Solo straightened up and smoothed his already perfect hair, but Linda went on, “I feel kind of bad for him though,” Linda went on thoughtfully. “Here he is, deep in enemy territory, so to speak.  All alone.  Thousands of miles away from home, friends and family and who’s got his back?  You know?”  She was well aware of the mood in the office about the Russian’s presence and it was stormy to say the least.  “Just go easy on him, ok?  Give him a chance?”

Napoleon flashed her his most dazzling smile, “You’re wish is my command.”  His communicator went off as he left the room, as Mr Waverly reminded him they have a staff meeting that started five minutes ago.

***

The five U.N.C.L.E. field agents who were in town were arrayed along one side of the round, rotating table in Mr Waverly’s office.  Waverly himself was an older man, well into his sixties, who ran the US operations for the organization. He had a long career as a field agent but was promoted to section one, command, that did not have a mandatory retirement at age forty.  Waverly was a droll, occasionally petulant Brit who missed nothing and ran his agency like a well oiled machine.  

The tension in the room was high, since word got out that the Russian was in the building and nobody was at all interested in working with him.  Most had spent time in the military and had encounters with Soviet soldiers that were anything but pleasant, and to have to work side by side with one, it was silently agreed among most that none was willing to trust this one to have their back. Once all the news was delivered to his men and all the status reports were delivered there was nothing left but to introduce them to their new field agent.  Waverly fervently hoped this would work out, since the Soviets were determined to support the U.N.C.L.E. mission, being threatened themselves by THRUSH’s activities. The Berlin office also had high praise for the young man that had sent.

Looking up at his men, he sighed. “I see you are all waiting for the final news for today’s meeting.  We have Mr Meachem’s replacement, a junior agent sent to replace him from the Berlin office. Yes, he’s Russian, the Soviets had sent him a few years ago and he’s worked out quite well.”  He poked a button on the console and informed this assistant that they were ready for him then continued, “I’ve seen his record and by all accounts he’s highly competent, very intelligent and well educated at Cambridge and the Sorbonne.  Fluent in 10 languages and conversant in 5 more, graduate degrees in physics and chemistry, which will come in very handy, and he’s a demolitions expert even teaching bomb disposal at Survival School for at least a month.  And,” he said glancing archly at Todd Dunham, who was sitting next to Napoleon, “he’s a gymnast.  I understand he cut the speed record for the obstacle course in half in Survival School, graduating at the top of his class. You have more work to do in that regard, Mr Dunham, if you wish to regain your record” to the snickers of the others in the room.  Dunham’s face reddened.  

The hyper competitive Todd Dunham had proudly held the record for the fastest completion of the obstacle course for six years and now this Russian squirt comes along and cuts it in half.  Napoleon stifled a smile, sympathizing with Dunham’s irritation at the competition.

Dunham mumbled something Napoleon didn’t catch as Waverly’s office door slid open, with Waverly’s broadly smiling assistant motioning the young man into the room.  Waverly waved his hand to the table for the Russian to take a seat, “Gentlemen, this is Illya Kuryakin, our new agent from Russia.  He will be working with us for the foreseeable future.  Indefinitely, even.  Have a seat, Mr Kuryakin.”

The agents turned as the young Russian entered the room.  Napoleon regretfully noted what the girls in the office found appealing about him.  His hair was slightly shaggy and very blond, blue eyes, and broad, intense, if pleasant face topping a very slender, athletic frame dressed in a cheap suit.  The man nodded to Mr Waverly and the rest of the room and took his seat across from them, folding his hands on the table.  Napoleon relaxed somewhat when he noticed what looked like a wedding band on his hand. Still, nobody has any business having eyes that blue, he thought ruefully.  The yellow triangular badge he was wearing had the number two on it. Meachem’s number. 

Illya studied the row of faces that held expressions ranging from open hostility to frank curiosity. All were older, in their middle thirties, with the movie star-looking guy at the end appearing to be a junior agent in his twenties. Taking a deep breath, he sat down opposite the five men who stared at him.  He stared back.  With a slight smile, he said with accented English, “Good morning.  Pleasure to meet you all, I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Jones, who was sitting farthest from Napoleon blurted, “You speak English!”

“I know a few words,” Illya replied dryly with a wry smile.   Napoleon stifled a grin at Waverly rolling his eyes.  Jones flushed, mumbling something about being sorry.

Jenkins sat, arms folded, watching the Russian through narrowed eyes, saying nothing.  Henderson sat back in his seat, nodding slightly to the newcomer, eyeing the number on the yellow triangular badge he was wearing.  “Number two. That was Meachem’s number.”

Illya looked down at it, touching it lightly.  Yes numbers did get reassigned when someone left and it appeared he was assigned the number of the man he was replacing.  He looked back at Henderson and shrugged, “Yes, that was my understanding.”

Henderson grunted and continued staring.

Anderson mumbled an inaudible greeting.  Napoleon thought Illya was looking a bit uncomfortable and felt some shame that he took some pleasure in that.

Dunham stifled his glare to smile a bit too broadly at the Russian.  “So… Cambridge, huh?  The Sorbonne?  You must be really smart. And how did you get through the obstacle course so quickly?”

Illya squirmed inwardly and just shrugged. Napoleon thought he was clearly uncomfortable now, particularly with Dunham’s decidedly wolfish grin.  He had to admit that he was starting to feel a bit uneasy as well. Napoleon was just now remembering that a briefing was sent to all of them about their new agent, a briefing it was apparent few had read.  Napoleon studied the newcomer and noted signs of a tough, steely strength and a keen intelligence behind the pleasant, friendly exterior.   _This guy is nobody’s fool and tough as nails_ , Napoleon noted to himself, a factoid he filed away for future reference.

For his part, Illya himself was unsure about this assignment.  He wasn’t at all interested in moving to America to live among Americans who hated the Soviet Union from which he came.  The two countries were adversaries, enemies even, and even though he too was U.N.C.L.E., would the Americans accept him as one of them?  He wasn’t hopeful.  The last man to speak was the movie star-looking younger man.  Illya turned to him waiting to hear what this one would come up with. The hostility he saw in his manner when he first came in had softened for some reason, replaced with open curiosity.  Napoleon his name is, he remembered from his briefing on the Americans before leaving Berlin.   _Who the hell names their kid Napoleon?_  he thought.   _At least this guy looks like he pulls it off._  

“Well,” Napoleon started, clearing his throat, “It’s very nice to meet you.  We’re looking forward to seeing what you can do, welcome aboard.” 

Illya nodded thanks with a half smile.  Waverly declared the meeting to be finished, clearly unhappy with the awkward greeting his new agent received from his people.  He dismissed them all except the Russian while silently composing a memo in his head to his men reminding them that they are all U.N.C.L.E. and all shared a common goal even though he knew it wouldn’t help.  He needed to send Mr Kuryakin on a mission - get him working with people so they will get more comfortable about working with what he thought looked to be a nice, talented young man.

***

Napoleon headed quickly to his office, he needed to finish some reports and he wanted to dig out that file on Kuryakin.  To his annoyance, the older Todd Dunham had fallen in step beside him, chuckling.  

“Can you believe they sent us a commie to replace Meachem?” he said shaking his head.  

Napoleon didn’t care as long as the guy could do his job… and stayed away from his territory, which is the ladies in the office AND in the field.  Todd was still talking, 

“Did you read the briefing on this guy?  He’s some kind of super star prodigy from the sounds of things.  I’m betting they’re lying, you can’t trust the Russkies to tell the truth about anything, know what I mean?  And what does Berlin know, anyway?”

Napoleon, mind on other things responded with something noncommittal and was relieved when Todd parted company with a clap on the shoulder and “Catch ya later, junior!”  

The pile of folders on his desk was daunting.  Napoleon had just gotten back from Crete and there sat two weeks’ worth of reports and briefings that needed to be gone through before he was caught up and can begin his week off.  Digging through the stack, he found what he was looking for, the briefing on Kuryakin, Illya.  _Russian for Elijah_.  He started reading, and had to agree with Todd that the guy WAS impressive.  There were photographs of Kuryakin in uniform and in civilian clothes, unsmiling in both. Soviet Naval Intelligence officer for two years and was given high marks by the people he worked with in the field. Graduate degrees in history and chemistry along with multiple degrees in physics, working on a PhD in quantum mechanics!  Napoleon shook his head whistling. Illya was well liked by the people he worked with, with comments like “smart as blazes, dependable, always has your back, ruthless when cornered, loyal to a fault,” and so on. According to Mr Waverly, Moscow said they sent their best and brightest and if this dossier was correct, then it was apparent that they did.  Nothing in there about marital status though, which disappointed Napoleon.  Still, from the sounds of things he heard from some of the girls in the office, Kuryakin’s not a flirt, so maybe he’ll be ok.  He shook that thought off making a note that maybe he should re-examine his priorities.

Waverly spoke to Illya after the not so successful introduction apologizing for his men and making it clear that once they get used to him and have had a chance to work with him, they’ll come around.  He buzzed his assistant and slid a stack of folders over to his new agent, “Background on a job I have for you with Mr Dunham.  Please familiarize yourself with the contents and we’ll meet back here at one to go over the particulars.”  Waverly’s assistant entered, “Miss Drury, if you could, show Mr Kuryakin to his desk, and please try not to let him get lost.”  He chuckled, “The layout of this place can be daunting at first, but you’ll soon get the hang of it.”

Thanking Mr Waverly, Illya followed Miss Drury through the corridors, which were thankfully not busy.  

“How did it go in there, Mr Kuryakin?” She asked pleasantly, knowing the answer.

“About as well as can be expected I suppose.  It’s not aways easy, meeting the new guy.”

“Or BEING that new guy,” Drury answered sympathetically.  “You’ll all get to know each other and it’ll be fine.  They’re actually good guys…” her voice trailed off.

Interest piqued, Illya regarded her with those intense sky blue eyes Drury was trying to avoid looking at. She flushed, embarrassed.  “Do tell me,” Illya prompted her with a smile that she found blinding, “I won’t repeat anything, I promise.”  

She told Illya about Napoleon Solo and how he’s an incorrigible flirt.  All the girls knew it but nobody could resist him.  _Solo. Napoleon, the movie star-looking guy. Figures._ Todd Dunham is very competitive, she went on, and as long as nobody shows him up he’s not too difficult to get along with.   _Dunham, he’s the one pissed off about the obstacle course.  And what was up with the questions about university, is he that insecure?_

“Here we are,” Drury said as she led him through a door that opened into a room that housed a number of small offices, one of which already had his name on it.  He had been trying to memorize the route through the building, but there were so many turns and branching hallways, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find Waverly’s office.  He regretted not being able to leave a trail of bread crumbs.  On Illya’s desk, Drury showed him some briefings he needed to catch up on as well as a hand drawn map that she said showed the route from his office to both Mr Waverly’s office and the exit through Del Floria’s.  

It was around noon, and Illya had consumed the briefings he needed to read in his cubicle sized office.  He opened the door and stepped out to stretch his legs, looking around for someone who wasn’t busy that he might be able to strike up a conversation with, but everyone was deeply engrossed in whatever they were doing or on the phone discussing who knows what.  He picked up the map Miss Drury gave him, put on the glasses he dug out of his jacket pocket and set out to find Mr Waverly’s office. He wanted to give himself plenty of time in case he got lost.

He followed the map as best he could, but realized he had gone in a circle when he found himself back in front of the entrance to the room that held his own office.  He tried again, attempting to take a different route that the map looked like it suggested and wound up down a narrow hallway that didn’t look at all familiar.  They couldn’t mark the halls or the sections? he thought irritably.  Everyone he encountered in the hall was in a hurry and not inclined to want to give directions.  By now he had only 15 minutes to make it to Mr Waverly’s office before he was late and he realized he was hopelessly lost.  That’s when he realized he hadn’t even been issued a communicator yet, so he was stuck.  Heading out to the main hallway he heard a door open then close behind him and an amused, familiar voice called out, “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

Relieved that someone even spoke to him, he turned and saw the movie star approaching him with a smile.  He smiled in return and pointed helplessly to the map.  “I’m trying to find Mr Waverly’s office, but…”

Napoleon took the map and laughed, “These maps are terrible, everyone gets lost on their first day.  Come on, I’ll take you there, and I’ll find you a better map. You’re a scientist, aren’t you?  Physics, chemistry, electronics?” Illya nodded, so Napoleon continued, “You’ll want to know where the labs are, you should introduce yourself, I can take you there if you like.”

Illya was relieved as was Napoleon - those oversized, tinted glasses the Russian was wearing made him look every bit as nerdy as his dossier sounded.  He’s no threat, he concluded, and he found himself starting to like this newcomer.

As they walked, to make small talk, Napoleon asked him what part of Russia he was from, “I spent most of my childhood in Kiev, so you could say I’m Ukrainian. It’s not entirely incorrect to refer to me as Russian though.”  Napoleon stopped, taken aback.  He should have seen that on his dossier.  Ukraine. Europeans his age grew up with World War II, but the Ukraine also suffered through a terrible famine as did Russia along with factional fighting - independence vs pro-Russian - in addition to the Nazi invasion.  Seemingly reading his thoughts, Illya continued with some amusement, “Yeah, just so you know, I never pass up an offer of food.  But you’ll find that out.”

Suddenly embarrassed, Napoleon asked, “So Mr Waverly has a job for you already? That was quick.”

“Yes. There is a THRUSH lab outside of Boston that we need to find and destroy.  He’s sending me with Todd Dunham.”

Dunham!  The unease Napoleon had been feeling was threatening to develop into a full blown anxiety.  Todd had been getting increasingly paranoid over the past several months, and even though Napoleon had expressed concern to their health division and Mr Waverly about Todd’s erratic behavior, nothing was done because Todd’s psych profile had come back clean.  He wasn’t able to prove Todd’s lying on his reports, taking credit for what the junior agent did. They were blaming his unease on his own competitive nature.  He was suddenly glad he had intercepted the young Russian on his way to Waverly’s office.  They chatted amiably on the way, about the news, working at U.N.C.L.E. where Napoleon learned that some vicissitudes of working for an organization such as this were universal. He even noticed that he had forgotten that he was talking to a Soviet.  Napoleon found himself telling Illya about an apartment opening up on his floor in his building in case he was looking.  Illya sounded happily interested.  They reached Miss Drury’s desk as Napoleon was giving Illya the phone number of the manager.  She looked up and smiled at Napoleon and appeared pleased that Illya had found someone to talk to.

“Right on time, Mr Kuryakin, go right on in.”  

Napoleon followed Illya into the room to find Todd Dunham already there.  Todd smiled broadly at Illya bidding him welcome and come here, junior, sit next to me, this is going to be fun.  Napoleon took up a position on the other side of Mr Waverly keeping an eye on Todd and Illya.

“Ah Mr Kuryakin. Right on time, well done. “

Waverly placed a folder on the table in front of him that he rotated so the folder was in front of Dunham and Illya.  THRUSH had developed a nerve gas they called Virgon that paralyses the muscles involved with breathing, so those exposed slowly suffocate.  Once aerosolized and inhaled by anyone in the vicinity, it caused instant paralysis, the victims suffocating to death. Illya expressed concern about blowing up any stock piles, but noted because it needs to be aerosolized, burning won’t endanger surrounding population.

“Isn’t it still considered rude to gas civilians?” he noted dryly.

“it is indeed, Mr Kuryakin” Waverly responded.

“Mr Dunham, you and Mr Kuryakin will leave this afternoon to Boston to find and destroy that lab and stockpiles of Virgon.   Your planes leave in about three hours, so you should get moving.”

Todd stood, grinning, “OK Russkie, you get to play with the Big Boy now.  I’ll go easy on ya,” he said with a wink.  

Napoleon spoke up, “I think I’ll tag along if that’s ok.”  Adding quickly, “Just for extra backup that is, and I might just learn something.”  Then he smiled broadly at Dunham.

Todd stared then laughed, “Sure, the more the merrier, kid!  Be glad to have you along.”  

Waverly was dubious but thought maybe having another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt and ok’d the addition to the team.  He did wonder to himself about Napoleon giving up days off to go on a mission that wasn’t even his.

Illya found himself pleased that Napoleon was going, but couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something.  

***

Plane tickets had already been arranged for Todd and Illya, who were to take separate flights to Boston.  Napoleon made arrangements to fly up with Illya, to Todd’s displeasure.  Napoleon assured him he was doing him a favor, babysitting the Russian himself so Todd could have a peaceful flight and if Napoleon DID have to get involved, it’s best that they weren’t seen together.  Todd agreed, said he wasn’t interested in mollycoddling what he thought could be a Soviet spy.  Napoleon was glad Illya didn’t hear that as he headed off to take the newcomer to the airport.

They stopped at Napoleon’s place first, so Illya could get a look at what the apartments were like if he was still interested.  Illya declared it to be a very nice place, though Napoleon declined to offer his opinion that the building and neighborhood had seen better days.  Then they stopped at Illya’s hotel so he could pack a few things.  He hadn’t unpacked yet, his two suitcases sitting on the floor by the bed.  

“When did you get in?” Napoleon asked.

“Last night, actually,” he said, adding quickly “but that’s ok, I sleep very well in planes.”  He selected one of the suitcases, examined the contents and added a few items from the other then closed it back up again.  “Convenient, don’t you think?” he asked, briefly holding up the already packed suitcase.  

The flight to Boston was uneventful.  Napoleon asked Illya if he could have the aisle seat, a request that was met with a shrug.  As soon as they were airborne, Napoleon’s companion busied himself with what looked like a German scientific journal, leaving him to make friends with the pretty flight attendant, even scoring them free drinks, which seemed to please Illya.

Once they landed and collected their luggage, they were on their way to the rental counter then meet Todd at the hotel when Napoleon felt a nudge.  Illya lightly jerked his chin to their right, 

“Is that who I think it is?”  

Napoleon looked and saw the tall, preternaturally skinny balding man with the hawk-like features belonging to Anton Kroner, upper management of THRUSH. 

“Oh yes, this HAS gotten interesting, hasn’t it?”  Napoleon said.

“Mmmhmm.”

They paused, Napoleon busying himself with a map while Illya fiddled with a camera disguised as a pack of cigarettes.  Kroner spied the gentleman he was looking for, who had seen him and approached him smiling broadly.  They shook hands warmly, a study in contrasts, the newcomer being a shorter, stockier man with neatly trimmed goatee and greying brown hair.  The two spoke briefly, Kroner nodded then left, smiling.  The U.N.C.L.E. agents couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they could detect a distinctly Southern American accent on the newcomer.  

“Do you know who that is?” Asked Napoleon, examining the postcards at the kiosk they were standing near.

“Not yet.  Wait here.”

Opening his magazine from the plane, Illya fished his glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on, wandering in the newcomer’s general direction, seemingly staring intently at his reading material.  Napoleon watched as the stranger was checking his watch, apparently waiting for someone, when the young Russian collided with him.  The man reacted indignantly, Illya smiling in embarrassment, apologizing profusely in flawless German. Mollified, the man waved him off, 

“It’s ok it’s ok, uhhh, guten tag.  I think,” he mumbled. Napoleon allowed himself a smirk, wondering what Illya was up to.

Illya stopped briefly at the candy counter across the way, then headed back to his suitcase and Napoleon, who had dug out his own camera and was taking pictures for himself.  Illya handed a wallet to Napoleon with a “Look what I found.”

Stunned, “Where did you find this?”

“In Doctor Malloy’s pocket,” Illya responded.  “According to his business card he’s a chemist.  You might want to return this to him.”

Napoleon chuckled at his companion who was holding a business card he had lifted from the collection in the wallet.  The man Dr James Malloy was waiting for had arrived and the two started toward the exit.  Moving quickly, the U.N.C.L.E. agent caught up to Malloy and tapped  him on the shoulder, “Excuse me, you dropped this.”

Surprised, Malloy patted himself down and noticed that his wallet was indeed not in the pocket he had placed it in.  He looked hard at the smiling young man then scanned the area looking for the German who ran into him but he was nowhere to be seen.  He thanked Napoleon and examined the contents of the wallet.  Credit cards, cash, ID, all were in place.  He shook his head then thanked Napoleon, offering him a twenty for his trouble, which Napoleon graciously refused.

Napoleon, his mind racing, introduced himself as a junior executive for a chemical supply firm looking at sites in the area to build a storage facility for various chemicals, mostly for pharmaceuticals. His CEO was going to join him in evaluating a few sites for their new storage center. Malloy was interested.

“We may have interests in common, you and I.  Why don’t you join us at a little soiree I’m having tomorrow night at my home.”

Malloy handed Napoleon his card. 

“This has my address, be there at eight sharp.  We can talk.” 

With a wink, he was gone, leaving Napoleon breathless.  Napoleon watched Malloy leave, not believing his luck.  Shaking his head, he headed back to collect his suitcase and Illya.  Illya’s suitcase was gone as was the man who owned it. Napoleon picked up his own and looking around for his blond companion, he made his way to the rental counter to pick up the car that they had rented.  Nothing to do now but go to the hotel, he thought and hope I can get a hold of Illya.  As he pulled out of the parking lot, Napoleon dug out his cigarette pack communicator when the thing went off in his hand with its two tone signal.  Startled, he dropped it in his lap where it promptly slid off onto the floor at his feet.  With a muffled curse, he pulled off the side of the road to pick it up and answer.

“Solo here. Illya?  Where are you?”

“I’m at the hotel so we’re all checked in, room 314. I didn’t know if there were people watching, so I just took a cab.  Figured you’d work that out and just come here.”

“Well you figured right,” Napoleon said grinning, “I’m on my way.”

Arriving at the hotel, Napoleon went straight to the room and knocked.  After a moment it was answered by Illya who showed him in, pointing to the extra room key on the desk.  Napoleon deposited his suitcase on the bed opposite the one that had Illya’s parked on it and sat down on the sofa with a grin examining the card that Malloy had given him, crowing about the invite to the next nigtht’s party.  He spied a notebook open on the coffee table with handwritten notes in it.  Illya sat down in the chair near one end of the couch and informed Napoleon that while he was waiting, he had radioed into U.N.C.L.E. headquarters to get a full background on Dr James Malloy for projects he’d worked on before had had the tenuous connection with THRUSH and found he specialized in nerve agents.  Then he declared his intention to visit public records to examine any permits drawn on Malloy’s property, whether excavation for a new sub basement or extra power requirements.  He noted that the lab may be located at another address, which Napoleon and Todd would have to ascertain, seeing as Napoleon had scored an invite to the party.

Napoleon gazed at him in admiration, nodding agreement.  “As soon as Todd gets here, we’ll make our plans for tomorrow leading up to the soiree.  We can adjust our search based on what we learn.”  

Napoleon was happy.  He had two years’ experience over Illya but the younger man was definitely a pro.   _Todd isn’t going to be happy,_ he thought, his mood darkening.  Todd is U.N.C.L.E.’s top agent but he seemed to be too threatened by the youngsters coming up, afraid of being eclipsed by them - himself included.  Now Napoleon was afraid that Todd was going to take things out on the very talented Illya.

“Have you called in a report yet?” Napoleon asked, to which Illya responded with a negative.  “Call it in, tell Mr Waverly what’s transpired so far and the plans for tomorrow.”  He paused, chuckling, “He worries when he doesn’t hear from us every few hours.”

The corners of Illya’s mouth twitched into a brief half smile, remembering his commanding officer in Russia being the same way.  He pulled out his communicator and gave his report. 

Napoleon listened, pleased.  Mr Waverly sounded pleased too and praised them both for the good work and to keep him informed.  Illya broke contact and spied Napoleon’s satisfied expression and remembered his feeling of missing something back at headquarters.  _There is definitely something he’s not telling me._

Napoleon checked his watch, “Todd should be here by now, our planes were supposed to land only a half hour apart.”  He pulled out his communicator to open a channel to Dunham.  

“Dunham here, how’s it going, kiddo?” he answered jovially.  

“Things are going swimmingly, where are you?”

“I’m here, I wanted to check out a lead I got wind of before we left New York. There is a chemist in the area, a Dr James Malloy. There is also a major THRUSH officer coming into town and I’m betting they’re planning something big.”

“Do you mean Anton Kroner?” asked Napoleon, who couldn’t resist.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, “How do you know that?”

“Well, he got in around the same time we did.  Dr Malloy was there at the airport to meet him.  Someone else had come in that Malloy was waiting for but we don’t know who that is.  Do you have any ideas who that might be?”

“Not yet. I’ll check on that.”

“Oh by the way,” Napoleon continued, unable to resist rubbing it in, “Malloy is having a big to do at his house tomorrow night, I scored us an invite.  I told him I was an officer at a chemical supply firm and I was meeting my boss - that’s you, by the way - looking into opening a facility in Boston.  He wants to meet us both.”

After several moments of silence, “You HAVE been busy.  Just don’t forget junior, this is MY mission. I’m in charge, and you’re not even supposed to BE here.  It’s technically your day off so you should have cleared it with me first,” came the irritated response. “Where’s Kuryakin? Put him on.”

With a smirk, Napoleon handed the communicator over to the younger agent who was listening curiously, “Kuryakin here, what do you need?”

“I’ll be there in a couple of hours, don’t do anything until I get there.  We’ll get a pizza and go over what we’re going to be doing tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.  One thing I was planning on was checking the public records for any construction permits or increased power capacity added to the house.”

“Yeah, good, kid.  We’ll talk when I get there.” The channel dropped.

Illya closed the communicator thoughtfully, watching Napoleon.  The sun had already gone down and there wasn’t much left to do for the day.  Illya checked his watch and settled back in his chair.  

[to be continued]


	2. Notes and Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon, Illya and Todd Dunham meet up at the hotel.

Napoleon checked his own watch, it was after eight so he declared he was going to wash up. He was in the bathroom with shirt and tie off splashing water on his face. He hadn’t intended on uncercutting Todd, even if he did need it now and then, it just worked out this way so he took the initiative. He did fear that this could cause problems for Illya, but shook that off. He was drying his face when he heard the room’s phone ring and Illya answering. Buttoning his shirt he could hear Illya talking with a surprised and delighted tone but couldn’t make out what he was saying, other than what sounded like “Katya”. He poked his head out of the bathroom and saw Illya sitting in the chair grinning from ear to ear listening to the other end and laughing softly. He answered in an affectionate, chiding tone and Napoleon realize he was talking in Russian. He hesitated, not wanting to intrude on a private moment but he was intensely curious about who he was talking to and whether it was connected to that apparent wedding ring he was wearing. He took his time tucking in his shirt and retying his tie then took a deep breath and turning out the bathroom light, he went out into the room to peals of laughter coming from the young Russian. He was shaking his head, breathless. 

Napoleon took his seat on the couch and busied himself with the notes Illya had made, noting that the first few paragraphs were in Cyrillic but then changed to English. Damned decent of him, Napoleon thought ruefully.

Illya was still talking, but serious now, looking pained. He glanced at Napoleon and saying his goodbyes, hung up the phone. Illya saw the notebook in Napoleon’s hand and told him that those were notes with his observations and plans for what he wanted to research tomorrow.

“I started writing then remembered I wasn’t in Russia. You can’t read the Russian… or can you?… so repeated the first few paragraphs in English because you and Todd will need to be able to see them too. And add to them if you need to.”

“I can speak and read a little Russian, but I’m far from fluent.” He smiled, “most of my language skills are Western European. Haven’t gotten too far into the Eastern languages yet.”

Napoleon made to discuss the notes but Illya had other ideas. “We can talk about that later,” he said, “but we DO need to talk.”

Napoleon glanced up at Illya and froze. Gone was the pleasant young man he met that morning and in his place was a man who was every inch the Soviet naval officer looking hard at him. His arms were folded across his chest, head cocked and brow furrowed, all smiles completely gone. Swallowing hard and trying to look nonchalant, “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

“There is something you’re not telling me and I need to know what that is,” Illya said after a moment.

_Oh crap,_ Napoleon thought, _am I that transparent?_ Knowing in his gut that any lie would be quickly seen through he opted for the truth. “Ok,” he sighed. “It’s Todd.”

“What’s wrong with Todd besides being a jerk?”

“He’s our top agent in the US, and he has seniority. He’s always been hyper competitive, but the last several months, his behavior has been getting increasingly erratic and I have to add, paranoid. Particularly with the junior agents. I know that he feels threatened by us and has even tried sabotaging us in his reports to Mr Waverly.”

Illya had noticed the competitiveness and even caught a glimpse of the paranoia so he knew that was true. “Go on.”

“I’ve reported my concerns to the Health division and to Mr Waverly, but they said his psych profile is clean. They chalked my concerns up as just being my own ambition,” Napoleon replied with no little bitterness. Blue eyes continued to peer intently into his soul, so Napoleon continued, “There wasn’t time to talk to you about it before your meeting with Todd and Mr Waverly and you were leaving right away, so…” he trailed off.

“So… Is that why you came along? To warn me, of… what, exactly?”

Napoleon felt his own backbone stiffening, meeting gaze with a gaze of his own from his time with the US military, he folded his arms and faced the Russian directly.

“I don’t trust him. You’re not only a junior agent but you’re new AND you’re Russian. I saw your dossier, you could run rings around him and in fact you already have. I was afraid things could get ugly for you.”

Illya’s expression softened, “So essentially you came along to watch my back.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Illya sat back, his expression now thoughtful. He had learned what he needed to know and even more, about this American who looked like a movie star and came across as smooth and glib who turned out to have a heart that wasn’t as superficial as he liked to pretend. The sincerity wasn’t all faked. He allowed himself a faint smile.

“Thank you Napoleon. Thank you for telling me the truth.” he stated finally, adding “And thank you for watching my back.”

Napoleon found himself starting to relax too, glad that was out in the open, but was convinced that this younger man had peered into his soul and discovered all his secrets. He cleared his throat.

“That phone call earlier.”

Illya regarded him seriously, “You mean Katya?”

“Is that who that was? It’s none of my business, but…” he started.

“Katya’s my daughter,” Illya interrupted. He rested his head on the chair back, closing his eyes, “She’s four.”

“FOUR? Did her mother call?”

Illya chuckled, “No, she called herself. It’s going on 4am where they are. She woke up and decided she wanted to talk to daddy. She’d seen my wife call a number of times and just did what she does. This is the first time she’s done that.”

Napoleon, stunned, “Through U.N.C.L.E. relay?” When Illya nodded Napoleon smiled, impressed, knowing how complicated that can be. “She’s one smart little girl!”

“You have no idea,” Illya smiled proudly as he worked a photograph out of his wallet and handed it over to Napoleon who took it, examining the picture of what looked like a happy young family. Illya with his arm around a pretty girl with light brown hair falling over her shoulders, both gazing with loving smiles at the beautiful, beaming tow-headed cherub on Illya’s lap.

“Think she’ll grow up to be a physicist like her daddy?” Napoleon asked.

“She likes bugs,” he replied, “and likes to bring home the specimens that she finds outdoors. My wife woke up and found her on the phone to me. She was just telling me that last week Katya came in with her little hands cupped together with ‘mommy look what I caught’ and opened her hands. This big, fat, juicy God-only-knows-what flew out and went straight for my wife’s head. She was not pleased.”

Napoleon threw his head back and howled with laughter, Illya joined him saying “I wish I could have seen that” which made Napoleon laugh all the harder. Napoleon looked back at the photo with Illya telling him that he talks to them on the phone as often as he can but he never gets to see them. He’s seen his family twice since he joined the navy and then U.N.C.L.E. and his daughter didn’t know who he was the last time he was home. “Now her dad is only a voice on the telephone” finished Illya with just a trace of sadness.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Napoleon handed the photo back to Illya who stored it tenderly back into his wallet.

“You’re going to be here indefinitely, Mr Waverly said,” Napoleon managed to get out. “Couldn’t they come with you so you’d at least be able to see them?”

“No,” Illya said shortly, closing his eyes. “It’s not permitted.”

Napoleon felt his own heart breaking. This Soviet who had peered into his soul just showed him his own heart. He felt suddenly tired. The silence grew for a minute then he looked at his watch. There was no telling when Todd was going to show up and since they were sharing, Napoleon started telling Illya about his own childhood as an only child with the holiday celebrations, playing with friends, and the snakes and rodents he’d caught that he used to proudly show off to his own mother, which earned a horrified laugh from Illya.

“What about you? What kind of mischief did you get into when YOU were a kid?” Napoleon asked curiously.

Illya thought for a moment and Napoleon immediately regretted asking. He had some idea of what things were like in Ukraine when Illya was a child, and while most European children’s lives were difficult because of the War, the countries in Eastern Europe in the Soviet influence had it much harder. The silence grew. 

“You don’t have to talk about it, I don’t mean to pry.”

“I just don’t talk about it, I don’t even enjoy thinking about it, truth be told,” Illya said. 

Napoleon listened, fascinated. He’d never spoken to someone who was there in that part of Europe. 

Illya brieflly told him about his own family, Russian aristocracy on his mother’s side, then went on, “There wasn’t anything to eat, but we started stealing, picking pockets, looking for money to buy food with, as if there WAS any food to buy. I was always a good climber, so I’d sneak into what looked like a well off family’s house to see what they had to eat that I could make off with. Kept me going until I met Horst.”

“Horst?”

“German soldier,” Illya smiled fondly at the memory. “He saw me walking past the weapons depot he was guarding and motioned me over. He didn’t speak Ukrainian or Russian, but he touched my hair and pointed to my eyes and I think he was telling me I could pass for German. He started teaching me some German and would share his lunch with me. One day he gave me what he called an Erdbeere.”

“Erdbeere… that’s German for strawberry.”

“Yeah. I’d heard of them but never had one myself. The thing was the size of my fist and he kept pushing it towards my mouth like I should eat it. Never had anything like it up till then, it was wonderful. After a while they were packing up to move East to march on Russia. He told me that he would return for me and take me home to Frankfurt with him, that his son would love to have a brother. I never saw him again.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, “Like I said, I don’t talk about myself and I don’t tell many people about my wife and daughter. I send them money and my military service does help them out with a lot of things.” He looked at Napoleon, who swore he wouldn’t repeat it or ever bring it up again. Illya nodded thanks.

Illya picked up the notebook and started going over what he was thinking for the next day, deciding he wanted to get the layout of Malloy's house and basement when he was interrupted by a loud, persistent pounding on the door. Both men started violently, Illya’s face draining of all color. Napoleon hurried to the door and peered through the peephole and with a grunt, opened it to a boisterous Todd holding a large pizza and a six pack of beer and his suitcase on the floor next to him. 

“Hey boys I’ve got dinner! Hope you didn’t eat without me!”

Illya silently cleared the coffee table to make room for the pizza box, his still pale face stony.

“Did you have to pound like that? You woke everyone on the floor.” Napoleon asked with no little annoyance.

“Just wanted to make our little Russkie friend feel at home,” Todd grinned, pleased at the reaction he got from the young newcomer.

“That was very funny,” Illya said mirthlessly, his heart rate returning to normal, “we must do that more often.”

The three men dove into the pizza and beer, neither Napoleon nor Illya had eaten since lunch. Todd wiped pizza grease from his hands and got down to business. 

“Ok, here’s what’s on the agenda for tomorrow. Russkie, I want you to go to Public Records and find out all you can about Malloy’s property, any recent work permits and such. . Then report back to me. Napoleon, since you’re here,” he paused, glancing archly at the young agent, “you can come with me to scope out Malloy’s place and track his and Kroner’s movements. Maybe we’ll get lucky and lead us to where their lab is and where they have their stash of Virgon.”

Dunham cracked the last beer, giving Illya a measuring look. “Russkie, since junior went and told Malloy that he’s here with me, we should switch rooms. I’ll stay with Napoleon and you can have my room. You’re in 412.”

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances. It made sense, if Malloy caught Napoleon with that alleged German who bumped into him at the airport it could blow their cover.

Todd tossed his room key to Illya and told him to scram, taking Illya’s key from him. 

“Looks like this is where I say ‘good night’,” Illya said dryly, picking up his own suitcase and heading to the door.

“Hey, I’ll catch you tomorrow,” Napoleon said to his retreating companion. Illya glanced back at him and left.

Napoleon sighed. He had eaten too much pizza but couldn’t help noticing that Illya had wolfed down half of it on his own. He wasn’t kidding when he said he liked food. Dunham was talking,

“I need to call in a report to Waverly. Think you can go to the convenience store next door and grab us some more beer?”

Napoleon sighed and held out his hand for at least part of the price of the beer, but Dunham was busying himself with his communicator. He looked up at the younger agent standing there, “What are you waiting for?”

With a sour expression, Napoleon left the room, glad to be away from Dunham. He hated that Illya had to take Todd’s room, as his company was infinitely more desirable. He sighed as he made his way to the convenience store, making a mental note to request Illya as a partner as often as possible.

“Open Channel D, please. … Oh hi Linda sweetheart, could you patch me through to Mr Waverly?”

Waverly answered the call right away, “Waverly here. Mister Dunham! How kind of you to call in. What is your report?”

“Yes, I’m here at the hotel with Solo. Doctor Malloy, a chemist, is here and I saw him with a THRUSH biggie, Anton Kroner. I scored us an invite to a party they’re having tomorrow night. In the morning I’m going to take him with me to shadow Malloy. Maybe we can learn more about what they’re up to and if we’re very lucky, find their lab. I’m sending Kuryakin to check for any work permits for Malloy’s house to see if he has his lab there.”

“Very good Mister Dunham. Keep me informed. Waverly out.”

Waverly sat back, his brows furrowed. 

[to be continued]


	3. He doesn't talk about himself

Dunham was emerging from the bathroom when Napoleon entered with the beer. 

“Refreshments,” Napoleon declared and set the bag on the table. Dunham finished wiping his freshly washed hands on his trousers and removed the beer, pulling one from the carton. Napoleon helped himself to another and downed it silently.

Dunham wanted to talk about how they were going to catch up with Malloy the next day and suggested one of them could take Kroner and that one should be Napoleon. Napoleon agreed. It shouldn’t be hard finding out where he was staying, he can radio the request for that information in the morning.

It was getting late and they had an early start tomorrow so the two agents readied for bed and turned in, Dunham turning off the light.

“So. Did you learn anything?” Dunham asked.

“About what?”

Dunham sighed with exaggerated patience, “The Russkie! You DID ask him about himself, didn’t you? What did he say? Spill it, boy!”

Napoleon was staring at the darkened ceiling, remembering what happened a few hours before. 

“Not a thing. He doesn’t talk about himself.”

“Well that was a waste of a few hours,” Dunham griped. “I’ll grab him before the party tomorrow and see what *I* can find out.”

Napoleon rolled over in his own bed, turning his back on the over talkative Dunham, wondering what the man said in his report to Mister Waverly. He smiled to himself and drifted off to sleep wondering why he was feeling so protective towards this young Russian who he had just met.

***

In the quiet of the wee hours of the morning, the figure clad all in black with night vision goggles eased open the fourth floor window of the small hotel and crawled silently inside. He paused, making sure he didn’t wake the occupant who was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. His breathing told the intruder that he was still sleeping, so he moved stealthily through the room, picking up the shoulder holster and gun, careful to put it down exactly as he found it. Moving on, he found the occupant’s wallet and opened it, rifling through the contents, pausing at his ID. Searching further, he pulled out a photograph showing a smiling young family. After examining it for a second, he replaced it adding a small device in a hidden compartment, folded the wallet and laid that too down where he found it.

His work completed, the intruder headed for the window when he heard a startled gasp coming from the bed. Intruder froze. A sigh sounded behind him as the occupant rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head. The intruder waited a beat then silently crawled out the window. He pulled it shut behind him then scaled the wall down to the ground and walked briskly away to his waiting car.

***

Napoleon awoke to Dunham poking his shoulder, “Wake up, sleepyhead, we’ve got to get a move on. We’re burning daylight, get up!”

Groaning, Napoleon rolled over and checked his watch, it was eight AM. Reluctantly he threw off the blankets and noted that Dunham was already dressed for the day in khakis, striped polo shirt and dark jacket. He padded to the bathroom then quickly dressed in his own casual clothes of dark slacks, light green shirt and jacket. He picked up the phone and started dialing.

“Who you calling?” Dunham asked.

“I thought I’d see if Illya was up and if he wanted to meet for breakfast.”

“Negative. We can’t be seen with him or we’ll blow our cover. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“What, you think Kroner’s staying HERE?” he asked, hanging up the phone mid number. “Who would see us?” 

“He can get his OWN breakfast. Kroner is staying at the Hilton across town, but you don’t know who else is here. Come on, we have to go.”

Putting on his best fake smile, Napoleon loaded his pockets with items he thought he’d need and followed Dunham out the door. After a quick breakfast, Dunham told Napoleon he would be following Kroner. Dunham himself will watch Malloy. They will meet up back in the room at six PM to get ready for the party and compare notes and finalize plans for that night.

They climbed into their separate vehicles and drove off. After driving a few blocks, Napoleon pulled out his communicator and opened a channel to Illya who answered quickly.

“I was just about to call you,” came the accented voice over the comm. “Where are you?”

“Ah, Dunham wanted to grab a quick breakfast so we can get started. He thought it would be best if the three of us weren’t seen together. Right now I’m on my way to the Hilton across town to catch up with Kroner. What are you doing now?”

“If you’ve already eaten, I’ll just run down and grab a bite before renting a car and heading to the county office building.”

“Ok sounds good. We’ll meet back in my room at six PM to finalize plans for tonight. Oh, and Illya,” he continued, chuckling, “try not to clean out the kitchen pantry while you’re at it.”

“I make no promises,” Illya smiled, then disconnected.

Despite his best efforts, Illya didn’t manage to clean out the kitchen’s pantry. He was disappointed but not surprised when he found they didn’t have kippers on the menu. He’d grown fond of them during his time at Cambridge and they were pretty hard to find away from the larger, more cosmopolitan cities.

Thankfully there was a car rental desk at the hotel and he was shortly on his way to the county office building. Clad in his most casual clothes, black pants and turtleneck with a dark jacket over it, he put on his glasses as he climbed the steps into the building. He found the counter he was looking for and with his best English accent, requested the drawings and any permits related to Malloy’s property.

The middle-aged clerk peered at him from over her glasses and asked the purpose of his request and could she see his ID. With a smile, Illya reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his many fake IDs that he carried with him. 

“Clive Weatherby?”

“Yes Ma’am. I was asked to verify that everything is in order with the Malloy residence. He may be considering selling the property and the potential buyer is making sure that everything is in order before putting in an offer,” he said smoothly. “IF he decides to sell, that is. My employer is very interested in the property and wants to have everything in order so he can get in the first bid.”

The clerk hesitated for a moment then looked up the property in the county records, giving him a file number and giving him directions to the records room. 

Smiling again, “Brilliant. Thank you ever so much. Cheers!” he waved his hand as he headed off towards the real estate records.

***

Dunham motored out to Malloy’s house at the outskirts of town. It was a large property with an expansive, two story brick mansion with columns on either side of the sheltered entry way. He parked his car on the side of the road just outside the tall brick fence and stood on the roof of the car to get a closer look, snapping photographs with his cigarette lighter camera. This is a friggin’ mansion! THRUSH must be paying well. Dunham wondered briefly if he was on the wrong team but shook it off. He made note of the circular driveway in front of the main entrance and the underbrush near the fence where Kuryakin can conceal himself during the party.

Through one of the downstairs windows he could see Malloy talking to a very attractive young lady and bitterly regretted Napoleon not placing a bug him when he talked to him at the airport. He hopped down and grabbed the directional audio amplifier antenna, plugged in the earpiece and climbed back on his car, aiming the device at the house. He could faintly hear Malloy’s voice, “… what’s wrong with the black dress, you look lovely in that…” “But dad, the black dress has that high neckline and I wanted to wear something a little more grown up. I AM twenty-one, you know…” Malloy was insisting she dress more modestly to the protests of his daughter. He listened for a while but that seemed to be a never-ending argument. He sighed.

He could hear the phone ring, the daughter climbing the stairs to work out her wardrobe for the evening as her father answered it. 

“Yes. Ah good good. … Yes, as I said, all is in readiness, so we’re all set for tomorrow. … if this deal works out tonight we’ll soon be able to store a nearly unlimited amount, not only the Virgon, but this other idea I want to tell you about. … Ok, will see you tonight!”

Dunham raised his collar against the gathering chill of the autumn afternoon as he listened for more of their plans for tomorrow, whatever that would be.

***

The drive to the Hilton was uneventful, Napoleon only hitting a few snarls in the traffic. A call into U.N.C.L.E. headquarters scored him the color, make and model of the car Kroner had rented, a ’59 black Chevy Impala. He drove lazily around the parking lot and located the car near the front entrance. Napoleon parked his car near Kroner’s and made his way into the lobby of the hotel, busying himself with a rack of brochures and pamphlets for local events and sites to see. He didn’t have to wait very long before Kroner emerged from one of the elevators and stopped at the desk to speak briefly to one of the attendants. Then he headed towards the exit with keys in hand.

Napoleon waited a beat then, picking up a couple of the pamphlets, he wandered out the door himself, making for his own car. Kroner had his started and was pulling out when Napoleon got into his own car and took off after him at a respectable distance. Kroner didn’t go too far, parking at a restaurant a few miles from the hotel. He went in. Napoleon parked his own car half a block away and strolled in after him and saw he was already seated with a well dressed, impeccably groomed woman making pleasant small talk. The noon rush was just beginning and the restaurant was filling up quickly. The hostess seated him at a table right behind where Kroner was sitting, to his delight. He ordered a burger, fries and cola and opened the brochure on the table in front of him, seeming to study it and it’s news on a college football game to be played the next day, while listening intently to the conversation at the next table. 

The woman was speaking, “I am informed that all is in readiness, do you concur?”

“Yes. Malloy has assured me that he has enough for tomorrow’s Operation Swan Song. I will be seeing him tonight and can confirm for myself.”

“Good. He is being handsomely compensated, and the reward will be great for you as well if this operation is successful.”

The rest of what she was saying was drowned out by the waitress bringing Napoleon’s order, setting the plate down noisily with a “careful, it’s hot” warning and a “can I get you anything else?” Napoleon declined anything else and thanked her, digging into his lunch as he tried to pick up the rest of the conversation. By this time they had switched to talking about gardening. Napoleon sighed and wondered how Illya was making out with the county records. This was going to be a long day and he found himself wishing Illya was there. He couldn’t shake what Linda was telling him the day before and wondered if that was how the Russian saw things or if Linda was just being sentimental. I’m just bored, Napoleon thought. I doubt he’ll tell me any more about himself anyway.

After finishing his lunch, and not hearing anything more of note from Kroner and the woman he was with, Napoleon left the restaurant and headed back to his car. He climbed in, dropping the pamphlets on the seat next to him when his communicator beeped insistently at him. He opened it up, 

“Solo here. Illya?”

“It’s Waverly. What is your report?”

“Well, Illya’s at the county office building looking at the records for Malloy’s house, Dunham is keeping tabs on Malloy and I’m watching Kroner. I heard a reference to an Operation Swan Song. There aren’t any details, but they have something planned for tomorrow and whatever it is, they’re ready for it.”

“Have you heard from Mister Kuryakin since this morning?” Waverly asked.

“Noooo, should I have? Come to think of it I haven’t heard from Dunham either. Do you think there’s trouble?”

“No, no. It’s not important. I’ll contact them myself, seeing as nobody feels the need to report in from time to time.”

“Aah, sorry sir, it won’t happen again. Out.” 

Napoleon cut the connection, his face reddening.

***

Six PM rolled around and Napoleon and Dunham were glad to get back to their room at their hotel. They threw themselves on the couch, when Dunham took out his notes and started speaking.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Illya?” Napoleon asked. “This is his case too, if anyone should be here to hear it it’s Illya.”

“He’s late,” Dunham replied checking his watch. “It’s one minute after six and he’s not here. We’ll start without him.”

Napoleon opened his mouth to reply when there was a knock on the door. Dunham threw the door open to see Illya standing there with a large bag filled with sandwiches and another filled with sodas. “I hope you both are hungry,” he said pleasantly.

Napoleon stood grinned a welcome while Dunham grabbed the bag, checking its contents. 

“You’re late, junior. We were going to start without ya!” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and motioned for him to sit.

Illya set the bag of sodas on the coffee table and took his seat on the couch next to Napoleon.

“Ok, Russkie, you first. What did you find out at the county office?” Dunham started taking a large bite out of his pastrami sandwich.

“I was able to study the layout of the house,” he began, unwrapping his own sandwich. “There have been several work permits filed in the past few years adding electrical service as well as a permanent generator to the house. The basement has also been built out into several rooms, one of which looks like it can be used as a large store room.” 

“Good work, kid!” Dunham said between bites. “I don’t suppose you brought a copy of those blueprints with you.”

“It wasn’t allowed,” Illya responded, “but I memorized it. I can draw it out for you once we’re done eating.”

Dunham stared then shook his head in disappointment.

Napoleon asked “Would you remember the layout? Dimensions and everything?” Napoleon asked.

“Of course!” Illya replied, biting into his roast beef sandwich.

Napoleon shrugged and finished his dinner while Illya dug out a pad of paper and pencil and started drawing. It was fairly detailed too, with Illya’s neat, precise handwriting giving dimensions and notes about the rooms’ construction, particularly in the basement.

“Looking at where the electrical went in,” he went on, “the lab is in the basement. In this room.” he tapped one of the rooms on the drawing with his finger. “Plenty of space for computer equipment and everything he’d need to do any work he needed to do. They also installed an entrance to the lab area in back, with a tunnel with an exit off the property in the woods in back, right here. While I was there I checked for new construction in the county for the past few years and they have all been smaller homes deep in the suburbs. I think they’re interested in your storage facility because then they won’t have to build it.”

Dunham stared at him while Napoleon smiled broadly in delight, grabbing the back of the Russian’s neck and giving him a little shake,

“GOOD WORK! Smart Russian!”

He clapped Illya on the shoulder, who glanced back at him, his mouth twitching into a brief half smile at Napoleon’s grin. 

Napoleon looked to Dunham, asking what he learned.

“Well the kid’s right about the interest in the storage facility,” he began. “I could hear him on the phone with someone and he sounded hopeful. The rest of what I could get he was arguing with his daughter about what she is going to be wearing to the party tonight. Apparently dad wants her to cover up.”

“What’s she like?” Napoleon asked, interest piqued.

“About twenty, beautiful girl. Sorry, didn’t get her name,” Dunham snickered.

Illya looked over at Napoleon who seemed to be planning something… amorous?… for that evening. He shook his head.

Napoleon told them about the conversation he overheard with Kroner, confirming something was planned for the next day called Operation Swan Song. He showed them the brochure he had taken from the Hilton that detailed a big college football game scheduled for the next day, wondering if they were planning some mischief with the Virgon at the game, but why?

“Ok, here’s what we do,” Dunham declared. “Junior and I will attend the party and see if we can learn more about this Swan Song thing for tomorrow and what they’re up to. Russkie will wait outside with the explosives. You’ve got timers on those things, right?” to which Illya nodded, “Good. Set them to go off after the party. We’ll blow up the computers, lab and whatever they have stored there. You can get in and out through the lab exit they have there. If you can’t get in, you’ll have to go in once the guests are gone. Got it?”

 

Dunham checked his watch. Seven o’clock. 

“We’d better start getting ready then. Good luck, kids!”

[to be continued]


	4. Surprisingly Little Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party at Malloy's and what transpires there.

Illya was ready to go before Napoleon and Dunham. He returned to their room to find them fussing with their tuxes, amazed that they packed them. Ready for anything, these Americans, he thought. Napoleon was in the bathroom, so Illya sat himself down on the couch going through the bombs he was going to be planting, setting the timers, to be adjusted once they were set and activated.

Buttoning his shirt, Dunham was eyeing the Russian clad in head to toe black, turtleneck, slacks, shoes, he had gloves even. He had stood up to shove some tools into his pockets and Dunham noted that Illya was at least half a head shorter than he, slight of build and could use a haircut.

“So, you gettin’ the hair cut when we get back?

Illya paused in what he was doing, “Pardon me?”

Dunham pointed to his own head, “The hair. It needs cutting. You’ll want to take care of that when we get back.”

Illya sniffed, “my hair is fine,” as he sat down and strapped a second firearm to his right ankle.

“You just don’t want to be confused with a beatnik is all,” Dunham smiled. 

Illya looked at him briefly and with a shrug, cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingers, wishing he had the heavier shirt that was in his other suitcase back at the hotel in New York. He wished Napoleon would hurry and get ready, he didn’t enjoy being alone with Dunham. He found himself hoping he’d get to work with Napoleon more in the future. Dunham was definitely lacking Napoleon’s warmth and sense of humor.

Dunham sat down with a sigh checking his watch. “It’s seven-thirty, we need to get a move on,” looking archly towards the bathroom. 

“I’m almost ready, hold your horses,” came Napoleon’s voice, obviously hearing what was being said in the living room.

“So Russkie, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Illya blinked at him.

“Yeah, got any siblings? You’ve got a ring, where’s your wife? Any kids? Where’s the wife?” he persisted. “C’mon, Russkie, Prince Charming is going to be in there all night primping for the party, we can talk a little, can’t we?”

Illya glanced at his left hand then at Dunham. By this time, Napoleon had emerged from the bathroom all ready to go. Even Illya’s back looked tense, then he relaxed,

“Had I but world enough and time,” he said finally.

Dunham stared at him confused, “What the hell is THAT supposed to me?”

Now it was Illya’s turn to stare, “In other words, I don’t talk about myself. Sorry, I don’t know you.”

They both turned at Napoleon’s chuckle. “I think he’s just too polite to say it’s none of anyone’s damn business, am I right, Illya?”

Illya nodded agreement.

Dunham, feeling left out, “I hope you brought a black cap to wear, that blond hair of yours glows in the dark,” he growled. “Let’s go before we are more than fashionably late.”

***

Napoleon and Dunham loaded themselves into Napoleon’s car while Illya took Dunham’s and made off to the Malloy residence. Napoleon stifled his amusement at Dunham’s fuming.

“I told you he doesn’t talk about himself,” Napoleon chided, suppressing a smile. “Good try though.”

Napoleon couldn’t help noticing that Dunham’s boisterous good humor was pretty much gone at this point, so he kept his mouth shut. The guy needed to be cheerful at the party so he couldn’t afford to rub salt in the wounds. He just wanted to keep him away from Illya as much as possible as the young Russian had seriously pissed him off without even trying. Things could get ugly, he thought and wanted to get some time alone to give him a quick call before they went in.

llya followed Dunham and Napoleon as far as the turnoff before the driveway to the house. He turned to the left and circled around into the woods at the back of the property. He was going to wait until the party was nearly over to set the charges. The house plans show that the ceiling over the lab and storage area were reinforced, but the explosions could still seriously damage that end of the house and anyone inside when they went off, most likely set the place afire. There wasn’t any way to minimize that with the explosives he had at his disposal to his regret.

He parked the car and with a flashlight hunted for the exit to the lab that the map he memorized showed him it was located. He walked for a good several minutes, keeping his eyes and ears open for anything resembling guards. He crouched when heard low voices chatting and crawled the ten feet to a spot where he could stay out of sight but still get a look at them.

There were two men in THRUSH uniforms with their night sight firearms slung at a careless angle, smoking cigarettes and discussing football scores and how their teams are doing and who has the best chance of going to the playoffs. Illya had to think for a minute and realized they were discussing American football. Behind them was something that looked like a brick shed which had to be the entrance. He found a rock near his left knee, picked it up and threw it high overhead to land several feet on the other side of the guards.

They turned, alert, guns raised. Illya grabbed the opportunity and bludgeoned them both on the back of the head with his own gun, knocking them cold. Working quickly, he pulled a roll of duct tape out of the pack he was carrying and bound them hand and foot and covered their mouths for good measure. Guards out of the way, he checked the door on the exit and found it to be locked. A quick search of the guards produced a set of keys with one of them fitting the lock. He opened the door and peered inside. Not seeing anyone in the faintly-lit stairs or hallway that was visible, he picked up his pack and went inside, his communicator beeped at him as he descended the steps

***

Dunham found a place to park on the circular driveway that was full of some very expensive automobiles. They emerged from their vehicle and headed to the front door. Napoleon stopped, patting his pockets down and told Dunham to go on ahead, he left something in the car. Dunham turned and continued on to the house while Napoleon walked back to the car. He saw that Dunham wasn’t looking, so he pulled out his communicator and opened a channel to Illya.

“Kuryakin here,” came the response almost immediately.

“Where are you, what’s your status?”

“I disabled two THRUSH guards and have just entered the tunnel into the lab. It’s pretty quiet in here, hopefully they only had the two guards at the entrance. How late do you think the party is going to go? I can set the charges for 3am. We want to have the house cleared out before they go off.”

“Did you notice if they have a fire alarm installed in the house?”

There was a moment’s pause, “Yes. Yes there IS, with sprinklers” came the excited response.

“All right. Good. Set the charges for two am. If anyone is still in the house, I’ll pull a fire alarm. That should clear the place out. Listen, I have to warn you. Stay away from Todd. If you HAVE to be around him, just keep your chin down.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. He may try to distract you, get you to look up. DON’T DO IT,” he hissed, looking around to make sure nobody heard. “He likes to punch people in the throat and he’s in a foul mood. And Illya, just be careful, ok?”

“Careful is my goal,” came the reply. “And you do the same.”

“Will do.”

Napoleon broke the connection, put his communicator away and strolled up to the massive front door and knocked. Dunham was just inside waiting for him, Napoleon patting himself on his breast pocket with an “I got it, I’m all set” smile on his face. The place was plush and full of people all dressed to the nines. The door opened into a large entry way with a heavily bannistered staircase leading up to the second floor which led to a sitting area with a view of the entrance and halls that led off to the right and the left. The house was furnished in plush Traditional style furniture, the overall effect was classic New World. Napoleon nodded appreciatively.

They circulated through the crowd, accepting drinks from strolling waters with champaign-laden trays. There were tables set up in what must have been the dining room covered with food, the guests taking what they wanted; fruit, crudités, various nibbles, even a champaign fountain. Gentle music was playing that was very amenable for dancing slowly with a loved one. Indeed there were couples in the middle of the room taking advantage of the music that the U.N.C.L.E. agents skirted on their way to finding Malloy.

They were there for an hour before they caught sight of Kroner talking to Malloy. Napoleon strode up and as soon as there was a break in the conversation introduced himself again and introduced Dunham as his CEO. Malloy greeted them heartily, introducing them to Kroner as his business partner. Both were eager to hear about the chemical storage facility they were considering building in the town.

Dunham spoke, “Yeah, the area looks good and the jobs it will bring to the community would be welcome,” he began. “But looking at what’s around here, I don’t know if there would be enough demand to make it a viable venture.”

“I assure you,” Kroner replied, “there will be a demand. Buy the property Doctor Malloy has for sale and start small. You can increase capacity as the demand rises.”

Dunham and Napoleon both agreed that this sounds like a good plan and merits serious consideration. They talked at length until Kroner raised a slender hand and said “but this is a discussion for another time. Tonight, we celebrate! Please! Eat, drink, meet our guests. We have some important people in the community here tonight. Get to know our town and you will see that this is the perfect location for your storage facility.” 

With that, he smiled and took his leave to mingle with the guests. A young woman approached wearing a low cut cream colored gown. Napoleon glanced her over with delight and stuck out his hand, 

“I’m Napoleon Solo and I’m very happy to meet you.” He took her offered hand and kissed it.

Malloy’s face had turned the brightest red Dunham and Napoleon had ever seen.

“I told you to wear the black dress,” he hissed at her, she looked back at him coolly. 

“Well I think she looks lovely,” Napoleon offered gallantly.

Dunham nudged him with a warning as Malloy glared.

“Sir, she looks lovely and lights up any room she’s in. I’m sure you’re very proud of her, such a bright young lady and so beautiful too.”

Barely mollified, Malloy shook his head at her with an “I’ll talk to you later” and he left to attend to his guests. Dunham shook his own head and headed for the buffet table while Napoleon smiled at Malloy’s daughter. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Napoleon smiled.

The girl blushed, “I’m Catherine - Kate - and I’m delighted to meet you as well,” she cooed as Napoleon kissed her hand again. 

“Shall we dance?” Napoleon offered his arm which she took and they headed to the middle of the room where they joined the other couples dancing. He tried to keep things chaste but with the dress she was wearing it was difficult. He didn’t blame Malloy for objecting like he did, she was irresistible.

***

Illya encountered surprisingly little resistance in the tunnel to the basement under Malloy’s house. It was right where the blueprints said it would be. He looked around and found shelving units holding glass flasks filled with a colorless liquid in racks suitable for carrying in bulk. There were hundreds of these. Moving through the door into the lab, he saw a half dozen computer banks, flasks, drums of chemicals.

He dropped his pack and started digging out the explosive packs. He set the timers on them to go off at 2am as Napoleon suggested. Timers set, he moved about the lab affixing the charges to the insides of the racks so a cursory examination wouldn’t find them. He placed a few in the middle of a set of drums and the remainder in the middle of the backsides of the shelves in the storage room. This must be the stash of what they are going to release for Operation Swan Song, he thought, making sure they were set to blow first.

Illya moved through the lab and storage area again, double checking the placement of the charges, and, satisfied, he headed towards the tunnel. He was halfway to the exit when he heard a sound behind him. Heart racing, he whirled, bringing up the THRUSH rifle he had appropriated from one of the guards only to see a rat scrabbling in the dirt behind him. Breathe. That’s it. It’s only a THRUSH trainee. He turned and hurried to the exit. He hoped Napoleon and Todd could get all those people out of there if the party ran late. 

He looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock.

***

Dunham mingled with the guests, drinking the champaign and chatting up the folks at the party to find they were the town’s movers and shakers. Quite a few well to do out of towners were attending as well as a number of THRUSH middle management types. They were all gracious and charming and funny and he again found himself wondering if he was with the right side. Someone like him could go far in that organization. It was every man for himself with them. The thought appealed to him greatly. He glanced over at Solo chatting amiably with the other guests and eyeing the buffet table and all the ladies in the room. He thought of the commie Waverly made him work with and shuddered. He stopped himself, this is crazy talk. He remembered his mission and the people who would die if they failed, which steeled his resolve.

Hours passed at the party, Napoleon checked his watch and found the time to be one-ten pm. The charges should be going off in fifty minutes, he thought. He had already told Dunham that the charges had been set and when they were going to detonate. Dunham had nodded and gone about his business socializing. Napoleon noticed that most of the guests had wandered out, so he found a quiet place away from everyone who was left and opened his communicator to open a channel to Illya.

***

Illya answered right away, “Kuryakin here. Napoleon?”

“Yeah it’s me. Were are you? Are the charges set?”

Illyya could hear the music playing in the background and the sound of people chatting happily.

“Yes, they’re set to blow at two. I’m in the bushes near the front gate and I see people are leaving, how many are left?”

“Not many left, and most of those who are here look to be ready to go. Some of them have to get up in the morning, which helps.”

“I hope they leave soon,” Illya responded. “I won’t be able to reset those charges if they stay much later.”

“I know. I found the fire alarms and I’ll set them off fifteen minutes before two if it comes to that. Sit tight, we’ll be out.” He paused, then “How are you doing?”

“Freezing. I should have packed a heavier sweater from my other suitcase.”

Napoleon stifled a chuckle, “You’ll be warm again soon enough, hang in there. Solo out.”

Illya put away his communicator and waited, shivering. The temperature had dropped precipitously since the sun had gone down and he could even see the steam of his breath. He didn’t care if he was from Russia and lived through the cold of Russian winters, he was always dressed for it and here he was in even mild chill of northern US autumn, NOT dressed for it and dammit he was cold. Closing his eyes, he made a conscious effort to relax. Keep his core warm. This is for only a few more hours, he thought.

***

Napoleon checked his watch, it was one thirty and there were still a dozen people left in the house. Dunham was across the room chatting with an older man, Malloy and Kroner were nowhere to be found. He didn’t know where Kate went, he hoped to a friend’s house. After noting where the fire alarms were located, he wandered over to the buffet tables and found a tray covered with the biggest strawberries he’d seen. He looked around and saw nobody was looking, so he picked up a napkin and grabbed the biggest strawberry he could find, wrapped it up and shoved it in his pocket. Illya was out there cold and alone and he might appreciate SOMETHING from the party. At least he hoped so.

Malloy wandered into the room with a man in tow, a man of medium height with black hair slicked straight back with dead-looking eyes. Napoleon thought he looked vaguely familiar. Is that the man he met at the airport? He wasn’t sure, he started kicking himself for not getting a good look at him then. He couldn’t ask Illya because he had already left by the time he got there. Napoleon headed over to Dunham, who excused himself from the man he was chatting with and filled him in on Illya’s status. Dunham nodded nonchalantly, scanning the room. 

“We need everyone out of here by 2am. The lab is going to blow and it could well take down part of the house in the process. I located one of the alarm pull stations behind the staircase there.”

“Mmhmm,” Dunham murmured as he watched more guests leave.

“We have to find Kate and make sure she gets out. I think she went up to her room.”

“Maybe you want to go up and get Oh shit.”

Dunham turned and started away as Malloy and the man he was with approached. Napoleon smiled a greeting, thanking Malloy for the lovely party and they would be in touch to finalize the deal on the storage depot.

“Just a moment there,” interrupted the man with Malloy, pointing to Dunham. Caught, he turned and smiled, sticking out his hand.

“I know this man!” he told Malloy, he’s an U.N.C.L.E. agent. If this man is with him,” he said gesturing to Napoleon “then he’s one too.”

Malloy and the man both pulled guns pointing them at the agents as the last of the guests moved closer to the door, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding behind them as they laughed and said their goodbyes. Malloy waved over one of his largest guards serving as wait staff, handed him his gun and ordered him to take the two U.N.C.L.E. agents up to the library upstairs then left to say goodbye to the last of his guests. Napoleon checked his watch, one forty five. He exchanged glances with Dunham as the two marched obediently up the steps.

***

Between watching for approaching guards and cars pulling out of the driveway, Illya amused himself by watching his breath as the steam dissipated in the now frosty air. He tried and failed to blow steam rings. _Guess it only works with smoke_ , he thought ruefully. He was out of sight in the bushes and tried to remain still as cars drove past but had to keep his arms and legs moving to keep the circulation going to his limbs. He had just disconnected from Napoleon when another car pulled in, filling a spot vacated by a departing guest. A man had gone in but hadn’t come out again. The last of the guests had left with only Dunham and Napoleon’s car and that latecomer’s remaining.

His head whipped around as he thought he heard another car pulling in. He waited, but if there was another car coming they had changed their mind. It didn’t sound like it turned off to head towards the lab exit. He shook his head, chalking it up to the breeze that was picking up and was serving to deepen his misery. With a sigh, Illya started talking to himself. 

“I wonder what Napoleon and Dunham would say if they came out and found my frozen corpse huddled in the bushes by the driveway. Might be amusing to find out.”

The waiting is the worst. Anxiety was growing, Illya had checked his watch for the tenth time in the last five minutes and there were only 10 minutes left before the charges were set to blow. _Why aren’t they coming out?_ Lights were being turned off in the downstairs rooms and still no Napoleon or Dunham. Illya sighed, and leaving his pack, he followed the fence around towards the back of the house.

Lights were off all over the house except for one room on the second floor. He saw multiple shadows moving around, one of them looked to have been punched by a giant. There was a downspout from the gutters lining the roof that was within reach of the window so he grabbed hold and climbed it up the side of the building.

***

The slicked haired, dead eyed stranger kept his gun on the agents as the guard tied their hands behind their backs. Dunham thought to fight back and swung at the guard who ducked, swung and drove his massive fist into Dunham’s jaw. He dropped like a stone. Napoleon stood with his hands raised waiting for his turn and watched Dunham go down.

“That’s going to mess up his class reunion picture tomorrow” he observed.

“A comedian, eh? You want some too?”

“NO no no no I’m fine. Thanks for the offer though,” Napoleon grinned at him. 

The guard grabbed his right hand then left and tied the bonds extra tightly for the sass.

By this time Malloy entered the room after seeing his guests out and turning off the lights. He saw Dunham out cold on the floor and turned to Napoleon.

“U.N.C.L.E. agents,” he shook his head, looking at Napoleon. “How convenient you found my wallet at the airport.”

He turned to Dead eye, “Just before you came out, some skinny blond kid plowed right into me. He was talking German, I’m betting there is a third agent with them. We have to find him.”

“What did he look like?” asked the guard.

“Young, not tall, thin, blue eyes, very blond and needs a haircut. German. Big glasses with tinted lenses, but he might not have the glasses.”

The guard looked up at the ceiling, thinking, pushing Napoleon down into a leather chair, “No, nobody like that here. I checked out all the guests, nobody by that description at the party.”

Malloy strode out to the hallway and started shouting, “Frank! FRANK!”

Another guard ran up the steps, “Yes sir!”

“Go check the lab, make sure everything’s ok. Call when you get there.”

The guard turned and sprinted down the steps towards the basement.

Napoleon fervently hoped Illya was off the property but had a feeling he was hanging around. He didn’t know the young Russian well enough to know what he would do in this situation, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t leave without them. As much as he got some satisfaction from Dunham getting knocked on his ass, this wasn’t the time he would have chosen for it to happen. He couldn’t see his watch but those charges should be going off any minute now. He and Dunham can probably untie each other in the confusion and it will take a while for any fires to reach this part of the house. He thought it would be a shame as he looked around. The den or office that this room must be was decked out with the same mahogany paneling with rich leather furniture with walls of books. He couldn’t make out the titles but some he could tell were chemistry references. A moan from the floor told Napoleon that Dunham was coming to.

“Awake, I see,” the guard said as he pulled Dunham to his feet and shoved him roughly down into a second leather chair near Napoleon.

Dead Eye approached Dunham, being careful to stay out of range of a kick. Their guard stood and watched them warily for any sudden moves.

“I know you, Agent Dunham. You and your partner, what was his name, Jenkins? Yeah. You were the one who spoiled our plans to blow up the White House. I never forget a face.”

“I did that?” Dunham sneered. “I barely remember. That was the easiest job I ever had. Clumsiest execution I’d ever seen, THRUSH must be lowering their standards.”

This earned a slap from Dead eye. “I don’t know what you are hoping to accomplish here. Tomorrow starts our new phase in world domination and there is nothing you can do to stop it” his mouth stretched into what an imaginative person could call a smile.”

“Would that be Operation Swan Song?” Napoleon asked. “The football game tomorrow, right? Some important people going to be there? Assassination?”

“And you would be…” Dead eye asked.

“Solo. Napoleon Solo,” he answered pleasantly.

“Solo, eh? You’re pretty well informed and I congratulate you. Nobody important at that game,” he said dismissively. “Virgon gas leaves no traces. Imagine the terror and unrest it will cause when an entire stadium full of people suddenly just stop breathing and die. Imagine the further unrest and terror when the scene is repeated over and over again all across the globe. People will be terrified, who will protect them? Nobody will feel safe. A cafe here, a market there, schools, playgrounds, shopping plazas. You can see where this is going,” he smirked. “Who will protect them? THRUSH will be the only organization who can make it stop. And it starts tomorrow.”

Napoleon was glad the chairs were facing the window when he saw movement outside. The sheer curtains couldn’t hide the light reflecting off the blond hair on the head of Illya Kuryakin. He focused his attention on Dead eye as he could see Illya examining the window.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. Where are my manners?”

Dead eye showed more teeth, “You can call me Grosbeak.”

Napoleon smiled. “Nice!”

The phone rang as Kroner entered the room to check on the proceedings. Malloy answered on the first ring.

“Yes? How is the lab? Did you check the storage area?”

Napoleon and Dunham listened intently. It was too late to disarm the explosives, but it wouldn’t be good to have their own purpose there exposed at this point.

“Everything is in order, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary in the lab or storage area. The team is coming to pick up the Virgon at daybreak and everything looks ok.”

“Very good, thank you. Keep an eye on the lab and storage area until the team gets there, there may be a third U.N.C.L.E. agent on the premises and we don’t want him interfering. Call the others and have them search the property.” 

Malloy hung up the phone, “Nothing out of the ordinary. The lab and storage area are clear.”

Dunham glared at Napoleon with an _I told you we couldn’t trust the commie_ look.

**WHUMPWHUMPWHUMPWHUMPWHUMPWHUMP**

The building shook as the charges detonated, blowing the lab and storage area. Napoleon smirked at the shocked, disbelieving look on Dunham’s face.

“Stay here and watch them!” Malloy shrieked as he ran from the room followed closely by Kroner and Grosbeak.

The sound of shattering glass startled the already rattled giant who was standing guard as the slender figure in black leaped like a panther into the room, landing in a summersault on the floor. The giant whirled and brought up his gun on the intruder as Napoleon launched himself from the chair and knocked the guard to the floor, his gun clattering across the room. 

Illya was immediately on his feat and the giant, recovering, gave Napoleon a shove, sending him flying halfway across the room. He swung at the lithe Russian but missed. Attempts to grab him met with failure as well as the young man dropped to the floor and, swinging his legs, swept the titan’s feet out from under him. Illya leaped to his feet and picked up a heavy lamp from the desk and slammed it down on his head, knocking him cold.

“What took you so long?” kidded the very relieved Napoleon.

“I stopped for tea. Did I mention I was cold?” retorted Illya.

“I told you you would be warm soon enough, didn’t I?” Napoleon said as Illya untied him then moved to Dunham.

“Good work, Russkie. Never doubted you for a second.”

“Yeah right.” He finished untying Dunham, “We have to get out of here. The place is certainly on fire and the burning Virgon may not be too healthy at this proximity.”

“I have to get Kate, I’ll catch up” and with that Napoleon sprinted from the room.

“Let’s go!” Illya headed towards the door, but Dunham was rooted to the spot. “What? Come on!”

Dunham was staring at the ceiling, “Oh my God!”

Reflexively, Illya ran back to Dunham and looked up. He had missed Dunham’s bending to pick up the lamp and was now swinging it, catching him full in the throat. Illya reeled at the sudden pain and inability to breathe. Clutching his throat and choking for air he raged at himself for forgetting Napoleon’s warning. It was so damned quick and now it’s too late.


	5. The Mood of the Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Malloy's party

Napoleon ran through the hall on the second floor looking for Malloy’s daughter, shouting her name. Throwing decorum to the winds, he threw open all the doors to look inside to find each room was empty. He even checked the bathrooms, no Kate. _I didn’t see her leave, but still she might not be here._ He hoped she had left and he just missed it so he ran down the stairs and outside to the spot where Illya said he was hiding. He found the pack he had left but no Illya and no Dunham. 

“SHIT!” 

He ran back into the now burning house and up the stairs through the smoke into the den to see Dunham kicking another figure on the floor, shouting incoherently at him. All he could make out was “commie” and “Russkie” and “pinko son of a bitch.” Napoleon grabbed him and swung at him, connecting with his cheekbone. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING ARE YOU INSANE?”

Dunham raged at him, knocking him off, “Are YOU insane? You going to let that commie come in here and take over? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE IS? HE’S A SPY! We should be allowed to kill commies on sight, what’s the matter with you?”

Completely done with Dunham’s ranting, he swung again. An uppercut to the jaw knocked Dunham out cold. He could hear Illya’s gasping for breath behind him. Napoleon knelt down beside him and put his hands on his shoulders, then checked for broken bones. His face was bruised and he was clutching his throat, choking and unable to breathe. He had to get him to the hospital and FAST. He grabbed Illya’s arm and pulled him up onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and made his way out of the room towards the stairs when a figure stopped him, standing on the landing where the seating area was. It was Kate and she was furious.

“You ruined everything! You bastard!” she screamed at him and raised her gun.

Napoleon gaped at her in shock, moving to protect Illya when the loud retort of a gun went off. He wasn’t hit and he didn’t feel the strangling Illya lurch from a gun shot. He stared as the girl crumpled and fell, blood flowing from the gunshot wound in her neck.

“Are you coming? Let’s GO!”

Napoleon didn’t argue. He hurried down the steps and followed the black clad figure out of the front door to the waiting car in the driveway with the motor running. The figure opened the door and Napoleon deposited Illya on the front seat and climbed in next to him, the figure closing the door behind them then running around to get in. He threw the car into Drive and peeled out.

The driver exited the property at full speed, the accelerator held to the floor. Napoleon was holding Illya who, tears streaming down his face, was struggling for air. It was not getting any easier for him. Dunham must have hit him really hard. 

“Hang in there, Illya, we’re taking you to the hospital. You’re going to be all right, hang in there” Napoleon pleaded. He looked pleadingly at the driver, who finally looked over at Napoleon who started in shocked recognition. “Mister WAVERLY?”

“Yes of course it is,” he answered matter of factly. “Who else would it be?”

Swallowing hard, “Do you know where the nearest hospital is? I don’t think he could hold out much longer.”

“Unfortunately Mister Solo, I do not.”

The speeding vehicle had entered the town and slowed slightly down to a more reasonable seventy miles per hour. Waverly cut the wheel and tires squealing and pulled into a fire station, laying on the horn. Three men ran out, Waverly jumped out and ran to meet them halfway, Napoleon could hear him shouting that there was an assault victim who needed an airway, he had been struck in the throat. Two of the men ran back into the station as Napoleon opened his door and pulled the struggling Russian out to lie him gently on the pavement. The third man pulled out a flashlight and shined it in Illya’s face, which was turning blue. He shouted back at the men running with a medical pack. 

Napoleon reluctantly stepped back as two men held Illya down while the third struggled to get an airway down his throat.

“Jesus, he’s stronger than he looks!”

“That’s a good sign, but hold him! Relax, buddy, it’s going to be all right.” One of the other men who was taking Illya’s blood pressure spoke up, “He’s going into shock.” Then shouted to someone inside.

Napoleon closed his eyes trying to drown out the horrid sounds of the gasping, gagging Russian and the shouts of the men trying to save him. Waverly laid a hand on his shoulder, 

“He’s in the best possible hands right now. Are you all right?”

Napoleon shook his head.

***

_How could I be so STUPID? Napoleon warned me and I looked up anyway._

Napoleon had run out looking for Malloy’s daughter. Dunham used the oldest trick in the book and he fell for it, not thinking. He was on the floor, defenseless, unable to breathe, and Dunham was screaming at him. Blows from his feet kicking him landed on his stomach, ribs and face and he was powerless to stop him or fight back. _What am I even doing here?_ he wondered. _My first day on the job and I’m going to die._

He heard shouts and a brief struggle then was lifted and carried. 

A gun shot, someone carrying him and running.

A speeding car, arms around him, a voice attempting to comfort and encourage him, but he couldn’t understand the words.

Struggling against those arms which only made them tighten around him, the voice growing more urgent. “Stay with me, ILLYA!” but he didn’t know what they meant. What language was that?

Lying on pavement, men grouped around him speaking urgently, hard plastic being forced down his throat making him gag. An injection. 

Suddenly being able to breathe. RELIEF!

Sleep.

Blue eyes opened blearily to the sight of fluorescent lights and the high pitched beep beep beep of a heart monitor. He tried to speak but there was this hard plastic tube in his mouth going down his throat. 

Panic.

Tried to raise hands to pull the tube out of his throat so he could ask where he was, but his hands were tied down. 

PANIC!

Blue eyes cast about in terror 

WHERE AM I? WHAT ARE THEY DOING TO ME HOW DID I GET HERE?

A familiar voice making soothing sounds. 

A familiar face entered into his view, but not familiar. It was haggard, unshaven, exhausted, and it was speaking to him, trying to smile, making comforting sounds that he couldn’t understand. 

Slowly a feeling of safety enveloped him with the hand on his shoulder, no doubt belonging to the haggard face with the comforting voice. He closed his eyes and slept.

***

Napoleon stayed with Illya and Waverly stayed with them both. The paramedics had stabilized Illya enough to get him to the hospital, Waverly and Napoleon following close behind to the emergency room. The police met them there wanting a report on the assault. Waverly handled the situation, showing his ID and giving them Dunham’s description as the assailant. Napoleon knew U.N.C.L.E. agents would be swarming the area looking for Dunham. He will have to be “untrained” to remove all memories of U.N.C.L.E. operations and he will have to pay the penalty for what he'd done.

Illya woke up once during the night and struggled against his bonds. They had to restrain him because he kept trying to pull out the airway and that could not be permitted until the swelling went down. Napoleon was there and tried to comfort him, but he didn’t think Illya understood what he was saying. It didn’t seem to matter though, it looked like he understood the intent and that was what mattered.

Waverly had left the room to call in to headquarters to check on the search for Dunham who hadn’t been located yet. The communications operator inquired into Illya’s condition which Waverly responded as ‘stable.’ He went back into Illya’s room to see Napoleon sitting, staring at nothing, with a paper cup filled with cooling coffee in his hands. He pulled over a second chair to sit beside him.

“How?” Napoleon asked. “How is it you there there? How did you know?”

Waverly sighed, “I was encouraged by Mister Kuryakin’s report that he called in the other day with what you two had done and what you had planned. Then some hours later, Mister Dunham called in with HIS report that he was having you and Mister Kuryakin do what had already been planned without him. I was reminded of your reports which I had pulled. You were right. You were right all along, Mister Solo. I don’t know how he skated through the psych reports, but he did. I owe you and Mister Kuryakin an apology.”

“But how did you KNOW to be there, sir? I don’t understand.” Napoleon raised the cup to his lips and grimaced at the now cool coffee but swallowed it anyway.

“Well I couldn’t very well trust one of the other agents to keep an eye on Mister Kuryakin, what with the mood of the place and all against him. I caught the next flight up with the intention of bugging Mister Dunham to see if I could ascertain this motives and to keep an eye on any sudden moves he might make. Imagine my surprise when I find Mister Kuryakin in his room! Well I decided to bug him instead.” He chuckled, “Mister Kuryakin is a rather amusing fellow when he thinks nobody’s listening. I pulled up to the Malloy residence and waited outside after he had planted the explosives in the lab. That was very good work and clever thinking of his, don’t you agree?”

“Yes! Yes. Very clever.” Napoleon watched the Russian’s fitful sleep, his heart heavy. He didn’t think Illya would want to stay here after tonight and imagined he’d want to go back to Europe and maybe even back to Russia. Once the Soviet Union gets wind of this, he couldn’t imagine they’d want to risk someone as obviously valuable as Illya with an organization that would allow one of their own operatives to try to kill him. He sighed.

Waverly was watching him. “You’re rather fond of this young man, aren’t you?" he asked.

Napoleon thought for a moment and realised he was. They work well together and the young Russian was obviously talented and could blend in to places he couldn’t.

“I’ve already spoken to his commanding officer,” Waverly continued. “He was understandably furious about what’s happened, but I took the liberty of explaining to him that Mister Kuryakin has a friend and that once the others here have had the chance to get to know him, he’ll fit in quite well. I have been able to mollify him. For now.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

“I think for the time being, Mister Kuryakin will be assigned to Section II, but he will be spending most of his time working with Section VIII, working with our scientific organization. You will still be able to work together, but he has great value with our science division and will be spending most of his time with them for the time being. How does that sound?”

Napoleon nodded. It was acceptable. _As long as he’s safe._ Theirs was a dangerous job and he doesn’t need to risk losing his life to another agent. Let them get to know him first. It was a good plan.

***

The sun had just peaked over the horizon, Waverly and Napoleon dozing off and on through the night in the chairs next to Illya’s bed. Waverly’s influence convinced the staff at the Sisters of Mercy Hospital to allow them to spend the night there with him as long as they promised not to disturb him, a promise they kept. The nursing Sisters had come in from time to time to check on Illya’s vitals as well as his sometimes dozing friends. They brought them coffee if requested or a little something to eat, even blankets and pillows.

At eight AM the morning rounds commenced. The doctor appeared at nine-thirty to examine the chart that the nurses had updated through the night, waking Illya’s companions. 

“Well good morning,” the doctor said cheerily. “And how are we this morning?”

“Maybe you can tell US,” Napoleon responded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The doctor, whose name tag said “Brown” chuckled, “I think the patient is in better shape than you appear to be right now.”

Napoleon rubbed his stubbly chin ruefully and out of the corner of his eye saw Waverly doing the same. He chuckled himself, relieved at the news. He saw Illya’s eyes flutter open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Doctor Brown spoke,

“Good morning, Illya, I’m Doctor Brown. I know you can’t speak so just nod if you can hear me.”

Illya stared blankly at him, which drew a look of concern on the doctor’s face.

“Umm, he’s Russian, doctor,” Napoleon said. “He speaks English and… several other languages, but he hasn’t been here long…” his voice trailed off.

“Ah! Thank you.” Doctor Brown then rattled off rapid-fire Russian to Illya whose eyes widened. He nodded. The doctor nodded too, pleased. He spoke some more, at length, Illya listening, nodding occasionally. The doctor motioned towards the listening Waverly and Napoleon, Illya looked at them, eyes never wavering, nodding occasionally.

“Obviously he’s unable to speak. I told him you two have been with him all night and that we’ll be taking his airway out soon, he will feel a lot better once that’s done. Those things are not at all comfortable, but when you can’t breathe, they’re all you could want.”

Waverly and Napoleon nodded, of course.

Illya’s right hand made a motion like he was holding a pencil. The doctor pulled a notepad out from under his charts and handed Illya his pen, holding the notepad under Illya’s hand. Illya wrote haltingly in Cyrillic then pulled his hand way. Doctor Brown glanced at it and looked at him quizzically. Illya looked at Waverly. 

“He’s asking if you’re going to send him back to Europe because of this.”

“No of course not!” Waverly responded, surprised. “No, we need him here and we’re going to make sure such a thing never happens again. I can promise him that. I’ve also spoken to the Russian authorities that are responsible for him and they’ve agreed to let him stay.”

Brown relayed that to him in Russian, Illya looking relieved. He nodded thanks. 

"Oh! Doctor! I have something for him," Napoleon just remembered. The doctor translated. Illya looked at him curiously.

Napoleon reached into his pocket and pulled out the now sodden napkin, "Oh." 

Crestfallen, Napoleon unwrapped the soaked napkin to reveal the remains of a mashed up strawberry. It was destroyed in the escape from Malloy's place. His face screwed up into a massive disappointment. Doctor Brown translated, Napoleon had gotten a strawberry for him (looked like a big one). Napoleon looked at Illya and shrugged. _Sorry_. The expression on Illya's face softened and almost smiled as he gazed at Napoleon

Motion again to want to write. Doctor Brown placed the pad under Illya’s hand so he could write another note. The doctor pulled the pad back and looked at it, Illya looking archly at Napoleon. The doctor laughed.

Still chuckling, to Napoleon, “He said, ‘you look like shit, get some sleep!’ And thanks for the strawberry!”

***

Illya was released a few days later with instructions to not talk for at least two weeks. Bed rest was mandatory for a week, then light activity. He was to follow up with his own physician. U.N.C.L.E. Medical will have to do for now. Instructions were given to him with a copy to Waverly, who made a copy for Napoleon, who wanted to help. Illya didn’t refuse. Napoleon insisted that Illya stay with him, promising to speak to the apartment manager on his behalf for the apartment down the hall from him. They collected Illya’s luggage including a guitar Napoleon hadn't seen before from his hotel room, and carted them to Napoleon’s place. Illya looked around. The apartment was larger and more luxurious than what he lived in in Russia, England, France and Germany. He wasn’t sure he was going to be comfortable, but he could get used to it. It wasn’t overly plush, just very comfortable. He wasn’t overjoyed about displacing Napoleon from his bed when his new friend claimed the sofa, but Napoleon wouldn’t hear of any other arrangement.

It was a bright, sunny New York City late autumn day. Napoleon parked in front of Del Floria’s shop and bounced into the fitting room in back, Del hitting the steamer to unlock the clothes hook handle to enter U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. He grinned broadly at the receptionist who happily pinned his number II badge on him. He checked the board and saw that number 2 was missing. His smile broadened. Blowing a kiss to the receptionist, he set off to see how Illya was doing in his first day back to work after the incident at Malloy’s place. Illya seemed eager to get back to work even if he was nervous about going back there with the mood being what it was. Napoleon assured him it would get better and he was going to see to it that it did. Dunham had been found and de-trained and handed over to the authorities to pay for his assault on Illya

He ignored the stares as he strode through the metallic corridors and the muttered “pinko” and "commie" remarks. That will change. _These people have never met him._ Napoleon found Illya in Section VIII with Doctor Franklin who was SO excited to work with him. Maybe a little too excited, from the looks of things. Illya greeted him with a nod when he entered the lab, Franklin rambling on and on about stuff Napoleon didn’t even WANT to understand. He took Illya’s arm, 

“How’s it going? Everything ok? Settling in?”

Illya looked at him, his brow almost pleading, still unable to talk. Napoleon smiled, understanding.

“So doctor Franklin,” he began, “what are you guys working on? Maybe give me a tour.”

Illya expressed surprise. Napoleon was taking this bullet for him, saving him yet again. He favored Napoleon with his half smile as Doctor Franklin began regaling Napoleon with what the lab was working on. 

Napoleon didn’t care. Illya was ok and was still there. That’s all he cared about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would run for four chapters, but chapter four was so long I split it into two, so we have five chapters. I didn't intend it to run so long. I had the beginning of the story and the ending worked out this past summer. It was that annoying middle section that had me blocked. Thanks everyone for your encouragement. I'll try not to post WIPs in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> There has been a slight edit to chapter 1. It wasn't Bern, it was Berlin (yes, I AM a blond). Fixed that.


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